Monday Earworm: Taylor Swift

I don’t always love all of Taylor Swift’s music, but I do like a lot of it, and her newest single is just mahvelous.

 

 

And just for fun — if you’re like me and think analysis is fun — check out this explanation of most of the Easter eggs in the video. Are there any that they missed? I can think of one; if you can too, leave it in the comments!

Happy Monday!

Monday Earworm: Genesis

I haven’t been posting this month because I was traveling. I attended the excellent Moss Wood Retreat, a generative writing retreat that was just an amazing experience. Again. I’ll tell you more about that later, when I’m not frantically editing the novel I’m going to pitch this coming weekend at DFWCon!

In the meantime, have an earworm. This song embedded itself in my brain while I was driving between Boston and Cape Rosier on my trip. I was entranced by this video back in the day, when the Sid and Marty Krofft puppets were The It Thing. They even had their own political satire show every weekend that aired after Saturday Night Live. Good stuff.

Enjoy. Take it to heart. Peace out.

A Book We Totally Need Right Now

Today I’m devoting my blog space to promoting a project by my dear friend, the artist Paula Billups. I can’t explain it as well as she can, so I’ll just step aside for a moment so you can read her thoughts on the matter.

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I am a painter whose reason for working is to show something of what it means to be human and what it means to live in this world with a compassionate heart and a wide-awake mind.

The current Administration’s recent policy of separating families seeking asylum at our country’s border, and imprisoning the children as well as the separated parents in cages, aroused my compassion, as well as my determination to put my skill to use in service to these disenfranchised families. As is true for any individual, I can only make use of those advantages and gifts I have to draw public attention in the direction I would like to see it go.

I announced I would make thirty paintings in thirty days and sell those paintings on my Etsy page. I donated 100% of the profit from the sale to the Texas Civil Rights Project, an organization which assists disenfranchised people and is in a position to relieve the misery and legal difficulty these refugees face. All thirty paintings sold within hours of being posted.

This book is a collection of those thirty paintings and the descriptions I wrote at the time I made them. They sometimes reflect the joy I felt in the beauty of New England summer days, and sometimes the sadness that came over me while working, because I know that although everyone deserves to feel as free, happy and safe as I did in my daily work, many do not. I am conscious that we, by way of our government, are sometimes the source of that suffering,

It is November 28, 2018. As I type this, the deadline for reuniting these families has long since passed. Yet little children still sleep alone tonight, traumatized and shattered. Heartbroken parents reach arms out to empty air instead of to cradle their little ones. What we have done to them is an atrocity. We know this because we know how we would feel, were we these people. We know it is cruel, because we feel pain at the thought of it.

We are called to use our individual abilities and our voices to counteract institutionalized cruelty, to change our way of doing things in the arena of small moves. We must look around us and see, with all our limitations of being “only one person,” what thing we can do right now, right here.

Offering these paintings was what I could do when it all began, and offering this book is what I can do now to help these members of our human family.

As with the paintings, 100% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to the Texas Civil Rights Project.

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If you’re interested in this wonderful art book — which would make an excellent holiday gift, I might add — please visit this link to buy it.

A Poem from My New Collection and for Tonight of All Nights

Two years ago almost exactly, the day before the 2016 American election, I wrote this poem, which crystallized my nervousness about the outcome and solidified my resolve about the future, no matter what. Looking back on it, I realize that those feelings were only the start of what would come next.

Part of me wanted to write a villanelle and had been trying to write one for days, maybe weeks, but it wasn’t coming. I was trying to riff off Dylan Thomas’ famous one in honor of the anniversary of his birth. But it wasn’t working. It just wouldn’t gel. And the problem wasn’t with the form: villanelles are in my wheelhouse and have been ever since I first learned what they were. I love those old French forms, the villanelle and the sestina and their imitation of the Malaysian pantoum, how they foster an obsession while helping the poet discover more layers of what’s at the heart of the matter. I love the puzzle of it all.

The problem with the poem I was trying to write wasn’t the form or even the subject matter, but with my attempt to emulate Thomas in the first place. Not that he wasn’t worth it — far from it. But I found I was trying to speak the needs of myself and of women in culture while trying to conform to the verses of a man. I was trying to bolster a moment of “the future is female” while not being true to the voice of a female.

I tossed all that mess aside and started over. I kept what I needed from the original and from the form, and I added in a hint of Frost to keep Thomas company. Why not? And then I wrote this poem, which was published right after the election in Yellow Chair Review and which is now appearing in my forthcoming collection The Sharp Edges of Water (from Odeon Press).

Tonight is another election eve. I hope tomorrow, if you are a U.S. citizen and are eligible to do so, you will vote as if your rights depend on it (because there’s a strong chance they do). Tomorrow evening will be another vigil. I have many feelings about it, about how it could go, about how I will react in multiple scenarios. But for now, I’m just going to share this poem with you.

The Path Often Traveled, the Path Less Celebrated, the Path of Ennobled Resistance
(A Rule-Breaking Poem for a Nail-Biting Vigil)

Do not go gentle into that stifling night;
Rage, rage against the snuffing of the light.

Do not go gentle into those good old days which were truly night;
Rage, rage against the smothering of the light.

Do not go gentle into that locker room of night;
Rage, rage against the rape of the light.

Do not go gentle into that back alley of the night;
Rage, rage against the beat-down of the light.

Do not go gentle into that Burning Time of night;
Rage, rage against the murder of the light.

Do not go gentle into that murderous night;
Rage, rage against the silencing of the light.

Do not go gentle into that good old boys’ night;
Rage, rage against the extermination of the light.

Crash ungently into that glass sky, crash into the night,
and be light.

November 7, 2016